


The Ghost of the Christmas Present

by joely_jo



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joely_jo/pseuds/joely_jo
Summary: Mulder and Scully are celebrating Christmas alone with the new baby when a stranger delivers a present.





	The Ghost of the Christmas Present

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr, where my username is joelyjo.

_It is the night before the dawn before the day of Christmas_ , says the Ghost of Christmas Present on the Muppet Christmas Carol. He is jolly in his green robe, overflowing with festive spirit as he guides Michael Caine’s reluctant Scrooge through the streets of London.

Alone on the couch, Mulder sits with the baby curled like a tiny comma on his chest. It is early evening; the light is low and the house is quiet apart from the chatter of the television and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Scully is upstairs, in bed, getting a nap in before their night is disturbed once again. The ‘four-month sleep regression’ is what the textbooks and websites he has read and re-read over the past few weeks have called it, but as far as Mulder’s concerned, it seems like the perfect X-File; somehow their sweet, laid-back baby daughter has been exchanged with a mischievous nocturnal demon. Right now, though, the demon is in its dormant state and Ellen appears innocent and content, sleeping as she is on his chest. Her little rosebud mouth is open, and Mulder can feel the soft puffs of her breath on his neck. She’s been like this since he sat down and switched the television on and started the movie. He dares not move for fear of disturbing her, but he doesn’t care; his heart is so swollen with love for her, he’d sit here all night if Scully would let him.

It is Christmas Eve but tomorrow there are few plans. Church in the morning for Scully, while Mulder prepares the vegetables and puts the tiny turkey in the oven. They will be alone, so there are just a handful of presents beneath the tree and they haven’t even bothered with dessert. But it’s Christmas and they are together and now that Ellen has graced them with her presence, the future is brighter than it’s been in many, many years.

Scrooge is on his knees begging the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in repentance when Scully appears behind him, threading a hand through his hair in a gesture of tender familiarity. “Hey,” she murmurs. “Seems like someone’s still quiet.”

Mulder hums. “She’s set in for the night. I can try the limbo if you want, but I’m in no hurry. Netflix has every Christmas Carol ever made available to view for three days only.”

“Bonus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Did you sleep?”

“Yeah.” She comes and sits on the couch next to him, her hip bumping against his. “Like the dead. Did she eat?”

Mulder angles his head towards an empty feeding bottle on the side table. They have been trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to encourage Miss Ellen to take some milk from a bottle, to ease the burden on Scully in the night. “The whole bottle. I told you, Scully, she’ll do anything for me.”

Scully chuffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m almost insulted.”

“Don’t be. Think of the undisturbed sleep.”

“Hm.”

They fall to quiet and their attention turns to the television. Scrooge is waking on Christmas morning, with his newfound knowledge of kindness and the Christmas spirit. Scully smiles at his enthusiasm and laughs as he flings open the window, sending Gonzo and Rizzo spinning into the snow below.

Through the living room window, a shadow shifts, and Mulder freezes. He grabs the remote and pauses the playback on the TV. “Scully, shh. There’s somebody on the porch,” he hisses. His mind flashes back to the Russian assassins who tried to take them hostage in their own home and his heart begins to thump wildly.

“What?” she gasps and her eyes fly up to the window. “Where?”

“I don’t have my weapon.”

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs.”

“Shit.”

Mulder gets to his feet and quickly sets Ellen into the pack and play beside the couch. “Stay there,” he instructs Scully. Slowly, he edges around to the front door, grabbing up his baseball bat.

“Mulder! My gun’s in the drawer in the kitchen.” He doubles back and pulls her weapon out, feeling distinctly more comfortable now he has its cool weight in his grip. With supple, creeping steps, he moves towards the door.

There is a scuffling of soft-soled shoes on the wooden floor of the porch, then suddenly, the footsteps head down the steps in a flurry. He yanks open the door and shouts, “Freeze!” at the retreating black figure.

But the figure does not stop, and instead accelerates. Mulder is about to take off after whomever it is when he realises that, sitting on the porch, directly in front of the door, is a large, carefully wrapped package. Frowning in confusion, he looks back up and the figure is gone, ghost-like into the night. “Hey!” he shouts into the darkness.

But there is no response.

Slowly, he lowers the gun and nudges the package contemplatively with the toe of his sneaker. It shifts slightly. There is nothing overtly suspicious about it, apart from its unexpectedness. “Hey, Scully,” he says. “Get over here.”

She appears a moment later in the doorway, looking out of place in her pyjamas and robe, and shivers in the cold air. “What is it?”

“They’re gone. But they left this.”

Scully frowns at the package. It is a box, wrapped in paper covered with jolly looking Santa Clauses, topped with a gaudy red fabric bow and silver ribbons. “It’s a Christmas present,” she says, stating the obvious in her surprise.

“So it seems.” He toes it again. “Doesn’t look like it’s about to explode to me…”

“No,” she agrees. “Should we open it?”     

He tilts his head at it, regarding it sceptically. It doesn’t seem like it’s a threat of any kind, but in their line of work, it is always wise to tread carefully. With tentative hands, he picks it up. It weighs a bit – not enough to be difficult to manoeuvre, but enough to require some effort to shift it. He gives one final glance around the porch and into the distance, then turns and heads back inside.

Once placed on the kitchen table, the present looks even more strange. There is no label, no card, nothing at all to identify the sender. Scully fingers the bow, a frown creasing between her eyes. “You open it, Mulder,” she says and looks up at him.

He nods and reaches in to pull the bow, then run his finger under the tape. Crinkling, the paper falls away and a plain cardboard box is revealed. Packing tape secures this box and there is an address label with the typed address blacked out. He squints at it, but it is impossible to make out the words beneath the marker that has obscured them. “Pass me a knife,” he requests and Scully presses one into his open palm. He slices through the tape and then folds back the box.

Polystyrene packing peanuts erupt in a cascade of white, spilling onto the table. With a glance at Scully, Mulder delves into the box and removes the contents. Whatever it is, it is wrapped once again, this time in multiple layers of bubble wrap. He holds it up so Scully can see it. It is essentially spherical, about the size of a soccer ball. “Well, unless Wile E. Coyote’s sending us Christmas gifts, I’m guessing it’s not a bomb,” he says with a shrug. Her brow arches.

“Open it.”

He uses the knife to split the bubble wrap and pulls it away. Scully’s resulting gasp is enough to make his heart skip a beat. He flinches in shock.

“Oh my God, Mulder…”

Inside, there is a large glass snow globe, the tiny flakes of artificial snow inside already whirling and storming like a blizzard. They watch, transfixed, as the snow slows and stops and a model family appears. Two parents, two children, dressed in festive sweaters, jeans and boots, with a pile of multicoloured presents at their feet.

Scully reaches out and touches the glass, almost reverentially. “Mulder, it’s…” Her voice trails off and she looks up at him, her eyes suddenly watery with tears. “Do you think…?”

There is no further need for elaboration. He knows what the rest of her sentences would be without her having to give them voice. He remembers the snow globe she picked up from William’s room, one of dozens on the boy’s bookcase shelves; he knows she still keeps the smashed remnants of the one she took in her night stand.

Scully picks the globe out of the bubble wrap and sets it back on the table. The base is polished oak and the figures within are carved and painted intricately. Clearly, this isn’t a two-bit token from a tourist spot. “It’s beautiful.” Touching the smooth, cool curve of the glass, she studies the model family.

“It’s us, Scully,” comes Mulder’s quiet voice from beside her. “Us and him.”

She nods. The father is tall, with dark hair, his sweater navy blue with a fairisle pattern of red and white stars. Beside him, the mother is shorter, red-haired, in a cream sweater with gold flecks. The children are a boy and girl, both in red and denim. All four are smiling warmly. Beneath the scene, a brass plaque is inscribed with the words, _‘Christmas Greetings’_.

Abruptly, Mulder spins and marches to the door, flinging it open and yells into the darkness, “William! I know you’re out here!” He pauses and scans the yard. “You’re watching somewhere, I know it.”

His voice rings out in the silent night, unanswered.

“Jackson!” he tries again.

“Mulder,” says Scully as she comes up and looks out alongside him. “He’s gone. He didn’t want us to see him.”

“But he…” Mulder feels desperation clawing at him. All he wants is a chance to speak with the boy, a chance to tell him that whoever his father is, it doesn’t matter, because Mulder has believed himself his father for so long, the genetics of it do not matter anymore. His hands hang useless at his sides and the night breeze whips coldly at his skin. Scully rubs his arm, encouraging him to come back inside, but he ignores her. He thinks of Scrooge on Christmas Eve, before the Ghosts show him how to live and love and closes his eyes against the image of William tumbling into the same condition.

Gripped suddenly by a need to reach out to the boy who once was his, he goes to the very edge of the top of the steps and shouts out, “Merry Christmas! Come in! Come in and know me better, man!”

But the only answer to the silly, foolish quote from the movie he’s been watching is a lone dog barking in the distance, and the susurrus of the wind as it gusts through the trees. For a long moment, he stands utterly still and listens, willing William to show himself from wherever he is hiding, for he is sure that he is out there, watching the house and them. It’s Christmas and he doesn’t want him to be alone, or to feel that the only chance of a happy family he has is to gift a model one contained in a snow globe.    

“Come on, Mulder. He never meant for us to see him. He wanted us to have the snow globe. It’s his gift to us.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. He can sense the sadness in her voice, in her resignation that he has not come to spend Christmas with them but has instead, once again, fled away.   

Eventually, Mulder sighs and nods, then allows her to lead him back into the house and close the door on the cold and the dark.

Back inside, he turns to her. “Do you think he’s been watching us?”

“I guess he must’ve,” she replies.

Somehow this comforts Mulder a little. He thinks back to the dark days after that dreadful night on the docks, the strange kaleidoscope of grief and joy he’d felt, the way he’d questioned everything and how the uncertainty had nearly sent him spiralling back into depression. It had only been Scully, and the tiny life unexpectedly and amazingly growing inside her, that had kept him out of the haze.

At that thought, he realises that the room is quiet and he glances to the pack and play. Ellen is asleep in the exact position he set her down in, her tiny fists curled above her head and her mouth pursed in peaceful repose.

Scully comes to his side and together they look down at their daughter in wonder. “Wow,” she murmurs. “I don’t believe it.”

“Maybe it’s the thought of the Christmas Carol marathon,” he says with a low chuckle. They fall silent, watching Ellen as she sleeps, and Mulder knows that they are both thinking of the same thing. “I hope he knows he can come and see her. That he truly is welcome.”

Scully takes his hand and squeezes it softly. “I hope he does too.”

On the table, the snow globe swirls.

 

The End.


End file.
